During the first college lecture Talia had ever attended, for a gen-ed sociology course forced on her by her advisor, the professor had merely skimmed the syllabus and jumped into a long-winded rant about the value of a bachelor's degree.

"I hate it when I hear students calling a degree just a piece of paper," Professor Reyes had seethed, commanding the attention of one-hundred-fifty daydreaming freshman with his theatrical hand movements. "It's so much more than that. You just have to believe it is."

But God, was it really just a piece of paper.

Talia stared down at the diploma frame that had just arrived in the mail, almost a month after commencement: a sweltering May afternoon in heels which had given her blisters her feet still hadn't recovered from. She couldn't bring herself to put the actual diploma into its expensive wood holder, as it looked just plain stupid.

This was apparently all that four years of lost sleep, endless career crises, insufferable group projects, and the most arcane of math classes had boiled down to.

Her mother was not in agreement.

"You and your brother are more annoying than each other," she had huffed as they drove home from Calvin's high school graduation, a couple weeks after Talia's own. "Can't you two ever let your father and me celebrate your accomplishments?"

"I don't think we have to go to Boston to celebrate them," Talia mumbled, stealing a glance at the crooked cap on Calvin's head, bothering her all afternoon. "I think I've already been four times in the last year."

One of those visits had been an all-expenses-paid trip for an interview with her dream consulting firm in Back Bay, a two-day ordeal full of simmering anxiety and horribly rehearsed answers that had ultimately won her a shiny new job post-graduation.

By choice or not, Talia was back in Beantown, just a month before she'd officially move there for work. She couldn't remember the last time all four of them had visited the East Coast together, feeling much like a child as she walked the streets of downtown Boston in between her parents. The tourist sites that had hordes of people swarming the uneven streets beckoned to none of them. Not to her, after having seen them all in the last year; not to her father, who had made his first eighteen years of memories here; and most certainly not her mother, who despised crowds.

"Man, if this place blows this much," Calvin complained, tugging at the collar of his T-shirt as the humidity consumed him, "what's Providence going to be like for four years?"

"You will not complain about your Brown acceptance," their father chided, holding up a finger. Talia was almost sure it was because of the thousands of dollars that were soon going to leave his bank account for an overpriced piece of paper. "Most students would kill to get into that school."

"Yeah, I died to get in, too, Dad," Calvin chuckled, pulling off his 49ers cap. It stuck out like a sore thumb between all the small vendors selling I Love Boston merchandise, but that team was a piece of home Talia wasn't leaving behind next month. "I don't think I know how to properly talk to a girl after being married to AP classes for the last three years."

"Oh, you'll never learn how to do that," their father said, stopping at the crosswalk. "Women are meant to stay enigmas, Cal."

Both Talia and her mother shot him a gaze, though deep down, she was sure neither of them disagreed. Women just had a certain je ne sais quoi to them that kept men coming, while knowing deep down most—hell, almost all—didn't deserve their affection.

Well, except for Zaid.

After one-and-a-half years of dating, Talia had deemed him more than worthy of her heart. Actually, the only enigmatic part of their relationship was how it had surpassed thousands of miles of land and ocean and come out even stronger, somehow surviving the crucible of long-distance.

And in one month, that distance would be no more.

All along the way to dinner that night with her grandparents, she daydreamed about what she would say when they'd meet again, knowing they could finally do away with the looming dread of their parting. It'd haunted her again when they'd met up over winter break and ventured from Boston to New York and all the way down to D.C., hoping that each new city would erase the fleetingness of the trip, always ending the same way.

We'll see each other again was no longer an anthem in her mind. It was angst wrapped up in a platitude and adorned with a bow that screamed fuck you when unraveled.

Adjusting the skirt of her sleek black dress, she hobbled in her block heels to doors of the upscale steakhouse, wishing she had just listened to Neela and worn sneakers to that damn graduation. The rest of her family was also dressed to the nines, even Calvin, who considered a freshly washed tracksuit haute couture. She gave his crisp navy blazer a confused glance, finally questioning why their grandparents had been so adamant that they all look like C-list actors for this dinner.

Teta Salma stopped her before they walked through the door, cupping her face with a gentle hand.

"You look gorgeous, habibti."

When she threw in more gushing praise, Talia was beyond suspicious. Planting a smile on her rose-gold lips, she ducked into the dimly lit place behind Calvin, who gave her an equally confused shrug when she asked him if they were just there to celebrate their graduations.

The other diners blurred in her peripheral vision as the hostess led them deeper into the restaurant towards a more private dining area, the ceiling an endless array of chandeliers and gold tones. She was so engrossed in the artful décor that it took an elbow to her side from Calvin to remember this was a dinner, not interior design 101.

Only when her curious eyes left the ornate walls did she realize this wasn't a dinner at all.

This was a family-friend reunion...and it had gone right under her nose.

If her legs were unsteady before, they were all but two matchsticks now, one faulty step away from making her one with the earth. Sensing her horrified surprise, Calvin hooked a hand around her arm and helped her to the table.

Muffled English blended into animated Arabic as Talia finally closed the gap between her and Zaid, one month before schedule. He stood between his mother on one side and his brother on the other, one hand tucked into his gray suit jacket, while the other shakily held itself out for Fouad, who returned the greeting with a certain trenchant vigor, faint smile screaming trouble.

Realizing photos were but a modest glimpse of reality, she didn't know who take in first. His mother, Nour, stood out, draped in an elegant olive-green dress, mirroring the color of those eyes she saw on her daughter, Nadine, who, for lack of better words, looked nothing like she had at seventeen. That sultry kohl-lined gaze and thick black hair to her waist had clearly enamored Calvin even more, who—if he had no idea how to talk to a woman—sure knew how to stare at one.

She glanced at Saif last, only having eyes for his brother, after all. Unlike what that childhood album had led me to believe, he bore almost no similarity to Zaid; he was several inches taller, with broader shoulders, and a smile that barely tugged on his lips, though the warmth in his dark eyes felt oddly familiar.

The staring had to come to an end, and the greetings replaced it. Talia had forgotten all about the cheek kissing that was normal almost everywhere but the US, shyly greeting Nour and then Nadine. When she made it to his brother, her heart leapt out of her chest, not knowing what to do with a man and one at least a good four years older than her—or maybe it was just the nagging seed of worry Brandon had planted long ago.

To her relief, Saif held out a gentle hand and gave hers the lightest of shakes, careful gaze not even meeting her eyes through the whole three-second ordeal. Then, he passed her off to his brother, and the world closed in on her.

Zaid's hand met hers, but instead of giving it a shake, he tugged her towards him, in just enough of an offhand manner that it appeared accidental. This close, all her favorite parts of him magnified themselves—that warm hazel-brown gaze taking her in, the deep cologne wafting off his crisp white shirt, and then his low voice, right at her ear.

"I missed you," he whispered, before letting her go, inch by inch, as all eyes were on them.

In between all the buzz, one last member of his family had slipped her mind, perhaps because he blended right in with Fouad and Salma. Of the original four who had started the possibility of generations of Americans, Nabil appeared the stalwart patriarch of their two families, somehow dwarfing her own grandfather, who was lanky and commanding in his own right.

He parted his way through her grandparents, then her parents, to stand before her. At five-eight and in heels, it was hard to make Talia feel like a small woman, but apparently not impossible. All he did was run his stoic gaze over her face, and her knees buckled again. With a small, satisfied smile, he turned his head to the left, where Zaid stood, still frozen, seeming almost just as intimidated by his grandfather.

Nabil quirked a brow. "So, this is the girl, Zaid?"

He nodded, and with the smallest of nervous smiles, Talia could only wonder what the rest of the night would bring.

***

"You know, I forgot almost half of these memories, Elias. Gosh, it's been so long."

Talia hadn't expected that her father and Zaid's mother would've spent a good chunk of the dinner recounting stories from their childhoods, which were tangential at best. Unlike his smitten daughter and her son, they'd once been unable to stand each other.

What may have surprised her more than their pleasant reunion was Nour's accent. There was no reason it should have been anything but American, but it was just so drawn-out, only missing the vocal fry that haunted her everywhere in California. Or maybe it was the stark contrast to the elocution of her two sons, who each spoke with a modest British tinge, Saif much more so than Zaid.

"I'd beg to differ, Nour," Elias chuckled, lifting his glass to his lips. "If there weren't so many gray hairs in my beard, I could swear those moments happened just yesterday."

In fact, at the level of each generation, a different type of reunion was unfolding—and at the level of one, it was newfound acquaintance. Both Talia and Zaid flicked more than a curious gaze to their younger siblings, who had spent the last half hour exchanging shy glances, until Calvin had finally bitten the bullet and initiated some professional conversation.

She craned her neck just the slightest bit to listen in, silently cheering on her hopelessly awkward little brother.

"So, what are you going to study in college?" Calvin asked. "I-I mean, if you've decided already, that is."

"Oh, it's nothing interesting," Nadine replied, a demure hand at her cheek. "You actually might think it's weird."

"Definitely not," he chuckled. "Really, you can tell me."

She clearly had no clue she was talking to a Latin scholar, valedictorian, and passionate cross-country runner. Now, Talia would never bully him for his overt nerdiness, but at least she knew none of those identities were patent synonyms for "cool."

"Biochemistry. I don't know... I just have this strange love for science."

"No way," he breathed, shaking his head. "I'm still deciding between majoring in chemistry or chemical engineering. When did you know you wanted to study biochem?"

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting her dainty fingers linger in the thick strands. "My brother, Saif, got me a research position last summer, and I realized no place in the world makes me happier than the lab." Noticing Calvin's unwavering interest, she continued, "I-I could explain what we researched, if organic chemistry wouldn't bore you to death."

"I'd love to hear," he said. Talia speculated he was feigning interest, until in true Calvin form, he continued, "I completed a project on the ring opening polymerization of cyclic ester for an internship last summer, but I've never been able to talk to anyone about it without putting them to sleep."

"No way," Nadine gushed, all reticence finally thrown out the window. "My PI was an expert in chain-growth polymerization."

Zaid dropped his fork to his plate, leaning into her ear. "What...the...fuck are they talking about?"

"I have no clue," she murmured in response, watching the two passionately debate science. "But I love it."

"So," Saif cut in after a moment, clearing his throat. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and directed his curt words towards Calvin. "Congratulations on Brown."

Her brother almost spit out a mouthful of sparkling water at Saif's hard stare, boring into his sister, who had already reverted to polite and restrained, though the love-struck smile just tugging on her lips was obvious to her trained female gaze.

"Oh yeah," Calvin said, rubbing the nape of his neck, fingers slipping through the golden-brown ends of his hair. "Thank you very much—um—what was your name again?"

"Saif," he said, leaning over the table. "I'm curious now, who's your namesake?"

"Coolidge," Calvin said. "There's this sort of ode to the presidency in our family. There's me, then my cousin Reagan, then Carter, Grant—" He stopped himself, realizing four different pairs of eyes were on him, and none were amused. "Okay, never mind."

"No, that is interesting," Saif hummed, nodding. "No Arabic names, are there?"

"I mean, I don't think Nadine is an Arabic name." It took a single horrified second to realize having her name on his lips in front of her authoritarian older brother was a bad idea. He leaned back and held up two hands. "Of course, it's a gorgeous French name. It is French...right?"

The look he shot Talia screamed help me, but she and Zaid were sadly deriving far too much entertainment from this entire ordeal.

A sharp chuckle cut through the air a moment later. "I'm just messing with you, kid." Saif clapped his hands together and leaned back in his seat. "Let me know if you need any tips on surviving life in Providence for four years. There's a reason I haven't been back."

Fouad cut in, tapping his fork to his glass to win the attention of the table. "I know it might not seem like it from my face, but I could not be more honored to sit here and celebrate not one but two, but four different graduations." He turned to Talia and Calvin, seated on opposite sides of each other. "Talia and Calvin, you have my sincerest congratulations and best wishes for the future."

"And Nadine and Zaid," Nabil continued, before extending his congratulations in Arabic, "alf mabrook. You have always made us proud." Chuckling, he turned to the odd one out at the table. "We'll include you in our celebrations, Saif."

"Oh no, trust me," he chuckled, holding up a dismissive palm. "Thrilled to be over the graduation stage. That master's degree was more than enough."

Joy and feasting continued through the night, the world seeming right again for everyone seated at the table—except for one, chiseled face bathed in distress. Talia eventually noticed the way Zaid eyed Fouad every few moments, seeming to catch him only when he wasn't looking. She brushed his apprehension off the first few times, but now it was rubbing off on her, own two hands slick with a small layer of sweat.

"What's wrong, Zaid?" she whispered, hovering her head above his shoulder. "You look like you have something to say."

"I do," he murmured, finally looking into her eyes. "I'm just terrified."

"Of what?" she asked, but before she could press further, his mouth was at her ear.

"Talia," he breathed, "will you marry me?"